


The First Curse

by JulietHasAGun



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Gun For Hire AU, Redemption Is Spicy And Canon Is Whack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietHasAGun/pseuds/JulietHasAGun
Summary: Gun For Hire!AU, Abigail Prince is the game warden of the Whitetail Mountain's, and when the cult next door starts heading off the rails, she's surprised to find an offer for aid from 'The Father's' own family. Their evil deeds behind them, the blood on their hands remains an obstacle in their journey to atone for the pain they caused, as well as their attempts to save their brother from himself.
Relationships: Jacob Seed/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	The First Curse

The soft twang of the guitar chord danced gently through the din of the Rye’s annual cookout, the bustle under morning light filled with camaraderie and cheer so common in small towns. Especially small towns with a prevalent and very enthusiastic gun loving community; and a decently sized militia- but none of the Whitetail’s seemed to be in attendance- most likely preferring the comfortable solitude of the Mountain’s. A comfort Abigail herself often enjoyed, but she wasn’t averse to the company of her friends now and again, and when Nick and Kim put on their cookouts, she was more than happy to attend.

Nick had always been a friend of hers, his cheerful disposition a welcome reprieve from both her own solitude and Sharky’s almost suicidal enthusiasm for anything willing to catch fire. Kim balanced him, and quickly became a friend of hers in turn, offering a firm hand on her arm and an uplifting word when she needed it….But it wasn’t needed now, so the two were in a heated discussion in the kitchen about whether or not raisin’s belonged in potato salad. Abigail herself sat comfortably on the railing of the porch, gently plucking away at the guitar Nick had bought, insisting he was going to learn to surprise Kim. Unfortunately, his fingers possessed limited dexterity and he sang like a wailing cat, but Kim was still touched by the sentiment, even though she made him promise to never pick up the instrument again.

Shielded from the daylight, Abigail spun out a soft tune, plucking at the strings and watching their minute vibrations as her hair fell into her face, catching the rays of sunlight revealing streaks that seemed to be of spun gold.

“Having fun?” She looked up to see Grace, Grace Armstrong, the face plastered in stoic expression’s across the county now soft and warm, glowing in the daylight. She wore a loose t-shirt, advertising one of her sponsors, a free gift, most likely, and light wash jeans, faded and worn, loose and accommodating . Her hair was tied low in a loose bun, small wisps framing her face as she smiled softly at Abigail, who couldn’t help but smile back in response.

“Yeah, but if you ask me to play ‘Freebird’ I’m chasing you across the property.” Grace chuckled at that, leaning against the porch entrance and raising her beer to her lips.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Abi. I know you’ve got a mean arm, and you know I’m better at a distance.” The older woman replied.

“Could shoot the fly off a horse’s ass at fifty yards.” Mr. Armstrong came sauntering out of the kitchen, a smile that Abigail only knew as comforting rising to his face. He put his arm proudly around his daughters shoulders and gave her a gentle jostle.

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, old man.” Grace tried to sound tough, but couldn’t hide the smile that peaked out above the lip of her beer.

The three of them looked out at the already large crowd of people gathered on the Rye’s rather expansive property, they made out Hurk Jr. trying to pull his father away from a rather heated argument at the bar.

“Is Hurk Sr. at it again?” Kim had emerged from the kitchen, hands on her hips and an exasperated look on her face. “Don’t know why he even comes,”

“Or why you even keep inviting him.” Grace chimed in, taking a long sip of her beer.

“Aw, come on now, Grace. It’s open invite. Anyone can come so long as they bring something.” Nick had now emerged from the kitchen, standing in the doorway, slinging his arms around his wife, planting a kiss atop her head.

“Does that include a bad attitude?” Kim replied, crossing her arms as Nick laughed behind her.

Grace squinted, lowering her beer.

“Oh, hell no.” She muttered, her gaze focused on an area up the drive.

Abigail followed her gaze to a sleek, black, pickup truck. Newer and nicer than any of the beat up work trucks already parked on the Rye property. The windows were tinted, blocking any view of the interior, but Abigail knew there was only one probable occupant of a truck that nice.

“Don’t tell me-” Mr. Armstrong muttered, his once soft gaze now turning steely.

He had no chance to finish his sentence before the penultimate bastard himself emerged from the car. John Seed, hair slicked back, pulling his sunglasses off his eyes to rest atop his head- stepped out of the car in one fluid motion, looking every bit the smug lawboy asshole he was known to be. He was dressed in his typical ensemble, a dress shirt with the top few buttons opened, a tantalizing sight for women with no standards and men willing to make terrible decisions, she was sure. From the other side of the car his brother, The Father, stepped into the light and out of the shade of the car. His glasses remained on his face, and he was dressed more modestly than his brother, not that it was difficult. A plain white linen shirt and a black vest, adorned with a small embroidered mark of the project. He held something in his hands, wrapped in foil.

“Oh great, who invited the loons?” Grace muttered.

“Well it’s open invite…” Nick muttered sheepishly, earning a well placed elbow from his wife.

Abigail squinted, the two back doors swung open as well, and from the passengers side emerged….what was quite possibly the prettiest woman she had ever seen. She’d only heard about her, Faith Seed, with her golden hair and delicate gait. The blonde woman stepped out of the car, her light yellow dress drifting in the breeze, the sunlight catching on the wisps of her hair. Abigail hadn’t realized she was gawking until Faith’s gaze caught her own, her fine features brightening into a smile as Abigail quickly shifted her gaze away. She peered over the top of the car to see who was emerging from the other side…

To see a man that dwarfed all of his siblings, an absolute wall of a man, face marred with burns and scars. He sauntered around the front of the car after his brothers, opting for a flannel with the sleeves rolled up, a shirt underneath, and jeans probably more accustomed to work than family outings.

‘ _He looks like the poster child of reclusive mountain men…_ ’ Abigail thought to herself, gently plucking a small hymn on the guitar as she continued to observe the imposing figure who carried himself equal parts casually, and like he was ready to spring to action and bolt at any moment. His gait was straight, not a swaying saunter like John, whose body language was full of bravado and sweeping motions, nor was it calm, composed like Joseph’s, whose every motion seem dripped in the same strange otherworldliness she imagined fair folk possessed in children’s stories. No, his walk was organized, shoulders balanced, no overeager lean forward that many people used to seem empathetic and genuine. He walked with the similarity of a predator surveying new territory, both anxious and sure of itself. She caught his gaze as he slightly turned his head to survey the gaggle of people now trying to discreetly look at the newcomers.

Abigail took note of the...knife. Yes, a knife- strapped to his thigh. It was a hunting knife, not unlike those used to skin deer. An object most everybody in Hope County owned, but generally didn’t bring to a cookout. Around his neck there were...a paw of some kind, what looked like a whistle or a charm, and dog tags.

‘ _That explains the way he walks,_ ’ She thought to herself, her gaze trailing upwards….right into his almost annoyingly blue eyes. He was looking at her, but looking was probably too light of a word to use. Staring would probably be a better descriptor. Had he seen her sizing him up?

Their eyes locked, and the large man cocked an eyebrow, and she swore from beneath his beard she could sense the faintest trace of a smile. She cocked her own brow in response, which prompted him to tilt his head in the convergence right beside them.

Brought back down to the situation at hand, Abigail was quickly drawn into the conversation by the theatric tones of John’s voice as him and ‘The Father’ stepped up onto the porch.

“Ahhh, Nick, how lovely it is to see you! Kim, you’re looking as radiant as ever.” John had a smile made for television, and what made him insufferable was the fact that he knew it. Nick sheepishly scratched his beard and Kim grimaced, making no secret of her disdain.

“Thanks.” The short woman responded flatly, her eyes flicking between the two brothers now standing on her porch, now flanked by the Armstrong’s. “You here for the cookout?”

“Ah, yes-” John started, but as his brother stepped forward he quickly grew silent.

“We were hoping to partake in the festivities,” Joseph’s voice was soft, melodic, almost calming if not for the occasionally alarming things he said. “We’ve brought a dish. Though, I confess, neither me nor my brothers are known to be cooks. Forgive me if it is lacking.” He held out the wrapped offering for Kim to take, but it was Nick’s quick hands that took it, both men bobbing their heads in Southern politeness before Nick escaped back into the kitchen- leaving his wife under the capable protection of Abigail and the Armstrong’s.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence after Nick disappeared, Abigail not moving from her seat, and neither of the Armstrong’s budging an inch, both stone straight. Kim shifted her weight from one hip to the other, and Abigail could sense Joseph eyeing each and every one of them from behind his glasses. His gaze stopped on her.

‘[i]Oh, fucking fuck,[/i]’

He tilted his head. “Will you be playing for us this evening?”

All eyes were on her now. ALL of them. The Armstrong’s, The Seed’s, even Kim had stopped glaring at John to look at her. Abigail wanted to crawl under the porch and not leave until everyone was gone and the Rye’s had gone to bed. But she met Joseph’s gaze, pulling one, last, uneasy chord.

“On and off, I suppose. Or until someone starts throwing tomatoes at me. People here can be philistines.” She attempted to joke. With ‘The Father’. The guy who led the cult next door. She tried to joke with Joseph Fucking Seed. Fuck. What the fuck? Why did she do that? No one was laughing. She wanted to die. Shit. Shit!

A beat. Two beats.

And then, Joseph Seed actually smiled, a small, almost unnoticeable smile, and from behind the glint of his glasses she couldn’t tell if it was the grim ‘I’m going to kill you for this slight’ smile, or a ‘You have amused me mortal child’ smile.

“I hope you play for us, Ms. Prince.” He knew her name. How did he know her name? Not like she was a hermit, but the fact that she was enough of a blip on Joseph Seed’s radar for him to know her name left a cold pit in her stomach. “And I’m sure Jacob wouldn’t let that happen, my brother is quite the fan of music.”

Abigail merely smiled and nodded, and after another insufferably long moment of silence, he turned off the porch. She caught John looking at her with the same sickening fixation he had pinned on an unfortunate group of Hope County’s female population, before following after his brother. Faith had already gone off to socialize, and ‘Jacob’ strayed away from the crowds and had instead gone to observe Nick’s airfield, now adorned with games and obstacles.

Abigail, and, unsurprisingly, everyone else on the porch let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding and looked at each other with expressions that ranged from ‘well that could have been worse’ to ‘I would rather have been forced to listen to one of Zip Kupka’s rants while being set on fire’.

“Well that….happened.” Grace broke the silence as Kim dropped her arms and let out a sigh.

“Looks like The Seed’s have an eye on you, Abigail- or at least Joseph.” Mr. Armstrong looked at her with a sympathetic gaze.

“I’d think that’d be the worst one to be fixin’ to have an eye on you.” Nick emerged from the doorway.

“I don’t know, I’d say John would be the worst. From what Mary May’s told me, at least.” Kim responded, elbowing her husband gently.

“I’d be more concerned about their big brother Jacob. He was military, and the training alongside his brothers’ fanaticism can’t lead to anything good.” Grace stared out across the property, still stock straight until her father patted a hand on her shoulder, all tension leaving her body at that simple, paternal gesture.

“Gracey, you get yourself way too worked up. You’re home now, not in Afghanistan.” Mr. Armstrong's soft voice seemed to relax as daughter, and she took a deep breath.

Exhale.

“...Yeah.” Grace responded, looking at Abigail. “Still, don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I, Ab?” A small, knowing smile crossed her lips, and a similar one came to Abigail’s face as well- a tired, wry, but knowing smile.

“No, Grace. You don’t.”

* * *

Abigail moved off of the porch, thinking it wise to keep an eye on the Seed’s scattered about the property. Joseph was in a conversation with Pastor Jerome, the two men somehow united in their faith despite obvious...ideological differences. She saw Faith wooing an enraptured crowd mainly consisting of young men, sitting on a stool, ankles crossed, her light laughter carrying on the breeze. John was a bit further, admiring, or rather sizing up, Nick’s hangar and equipment. It was no secret he wanted to buy it up, like many other tracts of prime real estate in Hope County. No one thought the Rye’s were going to sell. Jacob, despite his size, was a bit harder to find.

Walking out to the air strip, Abigail could have sworn she saw him walking the perimeter out here, amidst the obstacles and games, but he was nowhere to be fou-

“Abigail, right?” She just about jumped out of her skin.

“Fuck, shit, _piss, **fuck**_ -” She spun around after a small, shocked leap, and saw the well over 6 foot tall ginger standing behind her, cocking an eyebrow at her outburst.

“Scare you?” He asked, arms crossed, something short of amusement on his scarred face.

“Just a bit.” She responded, trying to calm herself down and smooth out her feathers.

“Sorry.” He looked her up and down, he really had a fondness for sizing people up. Thankfully, unlike his brother John, he didn’t do any unwelcome lingering.

“All good, I’m just a bit jumpy.” These days, at least.

There was a small window of silence before he offered out a large, equally scarred hand.

“Name’s Jacob, Jacob Seed. Sure you might have heard my name back there but it doesn’t kill to be properly introduced. Manners and all that.”

Abigail took his hand, rigid, probably uncomfortable on account of all the burns. “Abigail Prince. Though you seem to already know that.” They exchanged what seemed to be an excruciatingly long hand shake that realistically was most likely a couple seconds.

“You know my brothers, they like to know people….and talk.” He crossed his arms, and she couldn’t help but give a snort. He seemed to appreciate that, or at least, he didn’t react in anger or frustration.

“Yeah. Your brother John sure does love hearing himself talk.” She tested the waters, a light, friendly teasing mockery. She noticed the small smile on his lips and a light nod as he looked off.

“Guess that happens when you’re a lawyer. Gotta wheel, deal- What’s a court case if not talking more than the other guy?”

“I always thought court cases were adult debate teams with lives on the line and a reluctantly captive audience. Jury duty is like community service for normies.” ‘What the hell is this?’ Abigail thought to herself. ‘Witty banter? With a Seed? Am I going to see pigs flying in a minute?’

Now it was Jacob’s turn to snort, though there was something...bitter to it. “Another farce of American Bureaucracy. But, I don’t think complaining about politics is acceptable lighthearted cookout banter.”

“Hey, talk to Drubman Sr. if you want to complain about politics. He might throw a beer or two at you though. Fair warning.”

There was a lighthearted grimace on his face that told her he knew EXACTLY who Drubman Sr. was and had exactly zero interest in speaking to him. “Yeah, gonna take a pass on that. Guy reminds me of a raccoon screaming out of a dumpster.”

This guy wasn’t pulling any punches, and compared to the rest of his family, Abigail appreciated it. “I think that’s an insult to raccoon’s. They’re at least useful to our ecosystem.”

“Fair enough.” The man nodded, looking down at her, lighthearted expression falling. “I’m not known to be subtle, so I’m just going to say, I don’t think you came all the way out to this ass empty landing strip to admire the sights, right?”

Abigail’s lips tightened into a line she wrestled into a small smile, eyebrows raised to try to feign ignorance. Something told her he wasn’t going to believe whatever half assed lie she offered to try to deny coming out here to make sure he wasn’t doing anything suspicious.

“Yeaaaah, no. Came out here to make sure you weren’t drawing up lines to try to buy the property, mostly.” She admitted, not exactly ashamed about it, but reluctant to give out honesty to a Seed.

Jacob didn’t seem particularly upset by her admittance, shrugging. “Fair enough. I know John’s got a burning for this place. He’s always loved planes, flying.”

“I can tell.”

“Can’t believe it’s so obvious. Was it the embroidered planes?” The sarcasm dripped from his voice and he seemed about ready to slip back into the lighter mood, but his gaze instead locked on something behind her. “Uh-oh, am I keeping her too long? Promise she’s in perfect condition.”

“Nope, just coming over to join the conversation.” Grace, and judging from her steely tone, not particularly receptive to the eldest Seed’s attempt at ‘friendly’ banter. Though it seemed less friendly, and more like a goad. The woman slid up, shoulder to shoulder with Abigail. “And I wanted to ask Abi to be my partner in the three legged race.” She looked over at the other woman, something hard and competitive in her gaze, something distinctly Grace. “We never lose.”

There was a moment of silence as Jacob looked between them. “That sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one.”

“Take it however you want. If you want to go against us, you’ll be eating dust.”

‘ _Jesus, you could cut the tension with a knife._ ’ Abigail thought to herself, wagering that Grace, as composed as she was, was about one goad away from putting a spork through Jacob’s eye.

There was a beat. Two beats, before Jacob looked over Grace’s head and across the yard. He seemed to be making eye contact with someone, and a quick jerk of the head seemed to call them over.

There was a moment of silence until they heard it, the sound of footsteps- and then, a halt. Abigail turned her head slightly to see Joseph beside them, Pastor Jerome in tow.

‘ _Oh my fucking god is Joseph Fucking Seed going to be dragged into a three legged race by his brother? Are we going to watch the dude who calls himself ‘The Father’ waddle beside his brother like an idiot?_ ’ Abigail thought to herself, glancing over at Grace, who seemed similarly surprised.

“Making friends, Jacob?” Joseph asked.

“You could say that. Think you’re up for a three legged race?” The eldest brother responded.

“All in good fun, I assume?”

“Of course.”

The interaction seemed...stilted, to put it mildly, and Abigail could see Joseph turn his gaze to her and Grace.

“You know I’m no star athlete, perhaps John, however, would enjoy the festivities?” Joseph offered, to which Jacob responded with a nod.

‘ _Damn, was almost looking forward to potentially seeing Joseph Seed eat dirt.’_ Abigail shared a look with Grace, who responded with a discrete roll of the eyes.

“Hey, John!” There was no discrete gesture now, Jacob called out for his brother above the din of the crowd- and, sure enough, the youngest Seed came running. Well, metaphorically, it was more of a speedwalk in all fairness.

‘ _Probably afraid to rip his fancy pants._ ’ Abigail laughed to herself, her smirk not going unnoticed.

“Ah, I see we’re making friends!” John looked between the two women, Abigail offering a small, forced smile, and Grace only responding with a glare and the jerk of the chin. “Ms. Armstrong,” John nodded, shifting his gaze. “And Ms. Price!” He offered out his hand. “All this time and we haven’t been formally introduced. John Seed, the pleasure is all mine.”

‘ _You’re damn right it is._ ’

“Abigail Prince.” Abigail, ever so reluctantly, took his hand under the watchful gaze of his brothers. This handshake, she knew, lasted too long.

After the most excruciating twenty seconds of her month, Jacob cleared his throat, coercing his brother into stepping back with a look.

“These two ladies here seemed to be itching for a three legged race.” Jacob looked at his brother, nodding towards the two women. “I thought it might be fun to give them a run for their money, what do you say?”

There was something in the eldest brothers gaze that seemed to strongly discourage his brother from saying ‘no’. Not that he would have, it was common knowledge the youngest Seed had an inferiority complex a mile wide and was desperate to show off.

“Why, of course.” John responded, looking from his brother to the two women in question. “What better way to make friends than a bit of friendly competition?”

‘ _I wouldn’t call this competition friendly._ ’ Abigail thought to herself, looking over as Grace seemed to nod at Nick from across the airfield.

“Gather ‘round!” Nick hollered, voice carrying above the crowd. “Games are startin’ out in the airfield! Anyone wants to participate better stuff your mouths and hustle up!”

‘ _Great,_ ’ Abigail thought, looking to John Seed’s unfortunately smiling face as they started walking towards the makeshift starting line. ‘ _An audience._ ’


End file.
